Nerevarine
by Kitten Meru
Summary: The Nerevarine lives a harsh life, and eventually with Paarthurnax's help, finds a mate. Morrowind, Oblivion, and Skyrim. oneshot.


A/N: Yes, I play the Elder Scrolls games. Well, I've only played Morrowind, Oblivion, and Skyrim, but that's good enough, right? Especially since playing games on the computer isn't fun, and I hear that Elder Scrolls I and II are only for the computer. Ah well. It's been a while since I played Morrowind, but I was fascinated by the fact that the Nerevarine supposedly lives forever. The dwarf (Name?) that was cured of the blight lived for ages, so I figured, the same hero who saved Vvardenfell could be the same one who saved the other provinces, yes? Anyway, I wrote this like a week ago and I'm not going to reread, but I think I never mentioned a gender here. So if you prefer one over the other, pretend.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"It's blooding freaking cold here, colder than Bruma even." I thought as I walked the path from ruined Helgen to Riverwood.

I wasn't born in Cyrodiil, I was born in Valenwood actually, but I was raised there. I was raised in a vineyard outside of Skingrad and I lived there until I was 16. Then I left my adopted Altmer family and decided to visit some friends in the Imperial city. I wasn't there for three hours before suddenly I was in chains - they didn't even tell me my crime. I was in the prison there for two years, my only friend was a half-crazed Breton named Razil. Then suddenly the guards took me and loaded me onto a ship headed for Morrowind, more specifically the island of Vvardenfell, and the town of Seyda Neen. I heard something about emperor Uriel Septim, but no one really told me why I was suddenly being moved. I knew I couldn't be brought here to be released, surely they would have simply released me back in Leyawiin, but soon enough I was thrust through some imperial offices and sent to meet someone named Caius Cosades. He had me join an organization named the blades, apparently a secret service to defend the emperor. It wasn't my profession of choice, I wasn't a fighter, but it was better than prison.

I went on several errands for him, and then he finally told me why I was brought there. Apparently I was born on a certain day to uncertain parents, and that meant something. He told me I was almost sure to be something called the Nerevarine. It was interesting anyway.

After nearly killing myself trying to wield Keening before receiving Wraithguard from Vivec, and almost getting knocked into the volcano's magma by Dagoth Ur himself, I found myself hailed a hero in Morrowind. By that time I had learned my way around being a warrior pretty well, I'd yet to find anyone who could best me. Being the Nerevarine certainly had its perks. I was already resistant to disease since I'm Bosmer, but being Nerevarine meant I was completely immune to disease so even the horrible blight couldn't hurt me. That, and I would never age. Knowing this, and knowing that sticking around in Morrowind would have me spending my life hailed a hero, I decided to turn elsewhere.

It was 3E 427 when I had arrived in Morrowind, it was now 3E 429, I had been in Morrowind for two years, I was 20 now, though I would be stuck in the body of an 18 year old forever, I was ok with that. It was like having some of the perks of being a vampire, but with none of the drawbacks.

I had heard about Some goings on up on an island north of Vvardenfell, an island called Solstheim, and so I went to check it out. The events unfolded interestingly. Before this adventure I had seen Mournhold and completed some tasks there (and got up close and personal with some dark brotherhood murderers) but this was far more interesting. I got to know real Nords pretty well, they were different from the ones you saw passing through Skingrad. And I also defeated Hircine and was now in possession of his ring. I now had quite a few impressive trinkets clogging up my person. Keening, Sunder, the moon-and-star, Hircine's ring, all the gifts from being hortator and Nerevarine... I was beginning to think I needed a house. I certainly had the money, but I didn't want to live in Morrowind, and the house I gained from working on Raven Rock didn't suit my tastes. I wanted to go back to Skingrad.

I sold what I could to the strange scamp in Ghorak Manor and took my precious things with me back to Cyrodiil. I wasn't even thinking that I may still be 'wanted' in Cyrodiil. It wasn't until I walked into the market district of the imperial city in search of a new set of fancy clothes that I realized my mistake. I was in chains again. Immortal or not, prison wasn't fun. I spent four years there, insisting I was innocent and that I didn't even know my crime, but no one heard me. No one even seemed to know I was the Nerevarine. I figured I could get out if I really wanted to, but considering I wouldn't age I thought serving my time and going free would be the better option.

After being in the imperial city prison for four years, something interesting was finally happening. Valen Dreth was taunting me like always, and subtly flirting even though in the four years we'd been together we'd never so much as touched, and then I heard voices, unfamiliar voices. Turns out it was the emperor and his Blades. It almost felt like home for a minute, I was also a member of the blades. I'd never personally guarded the emperor before though. Despite my previous thoughts of serving my sentence, I couldn't pass up the obvious freedom. The emperor's words rung in my head as well. It was as if he knew me, and I knew I'd never met him before.

I spelled the gate to my prison open and gathered my precious items back. I was surprised that most of it was still there. Keening and Sunder were the only things that weren't there, as no one touched them without being seriously injured, and so I donned Wraithguard and picked up the short blade and hammer from where I dropped them when I was first stripped. Finally back in full gear, I crept into the strange hole and made my way through the tunnels, where I later witnessed the emperor being killed before my eyes. I kicked myself for that too, I was a blade, and I let my emperor get killed right in front of me. I killed his assassin right after, but I felt horrible. He'd given me his amulet and I had to stuff it in my pocket because I was unable to wear it. After that I set out to find the grandmaster of the blades, who also didn't know I was already a member. Seems no one knew my name or face here in Cyrodiil. That was ok, I didn't particularly want to be named a hero here.

In less than a year my life was turned on its head again. While I wasn't the one who defeated Mehrunes Dagon, I set the stage for Martin Septim to defeat him with the help of Akatosh. It felt weird being near Martin, and his father Uriel. There was something in them that called to me. I was very sad to see them both die before my eyes I felt useless as a blade. I was a great warrior who had passed so many tests, I was the master of the fighter's guild, I was the arch-Mage, I was even the listener and the grey fox (when you live forever, you've got to keep occupied) and yet I couldn't even keep the Septim line intact. There were no more heirs, legitimate or not. I may have helped prevent the oblivion crisis, but I had also let the Septim line end. I knew then that I was a failure. I had to leave. Or at least, I could never be seen in public.

There was a statue made in my honour, I knew they would never forget my face, but though they hailed me as a hero, I felt so empty. I stored most of my precious things in my newly acquired home Rosethorn Hall, and used my strongest locking and warding spells to make sure no one would ever enter again. I bid my family farewell. I knew I would likely never see them again. Though they were Altmer and could live a long time, they were already old, and I didn't think I would be returning for a long time.

I spent a long time with the dark brotherhood. It was hard being there, knowing I had killed Vicente (who was a great friend and a kindred spirit, being immortal like me) and had not done more to save Lucien. But it was easier than wearing a mask forever as the grey fox, or being in public anywhere else. I appointed new leaders for the fighter's guild and the mage's guild, passed on the cowl, and resigned myself to living underground and raising my dark family for the next nearly two hundred years.

I met Cicero once, and didn't think much of it. He was strange, but he was the keeper so I figured being around the same corpse for so long would do that to you. I spent a long time with the brotherhood, but I neglected my duties as listener. I felt just horrible about everything I did and didn't do, I just fell apart. I eventually left my family to live in a cave north of Bruma for the next while. it wasn't all that pleasant, but I had my dark brotherhood armour and robes, and I had Umbra, and that was good enough for me.

After living in seclusion for almost two hundred years, it surprised me that when I ventured into Bruma that there were Altmer in dark robes everywhere. I didn't understand. Apparently a war had taken place and I didn't notice while I was living in my cave. I was a Bosmer in dark robes, and rather tall for my race, so I think people just thought I was one of them and let me be. I saw my statue near the north gate, or what was left of it. Where once a great likeness of myself stood, now was a strange half-statue with a missing upper body. The missing pieces were nowhere to be found. I thought it was fitting, since I did not find myself a hero in this province. I thought I did well in Morrowind, but I could not bear to be hailed a hero here. It was roughly 4E 180 and it was very strange. The land seemed to be ruled by these Altmer, there weren't all that many, but you saw so few before that even two in the area was plenty. I didn't understand it much, so I bought a few new supplies in the shops and went back to my cave. Twenty years later I was walking very far north of my cave hunting, when suddenly I was slapped in irons again. I thought it funny that every time I was imprisoned I had committed no crime. In truth, I was a murderer and a thief, but I was sure they didn't know that, so I wondered what crime they thought I had committed.

This time it was a little different. I was in a prison in an unknown town for a short time, then suddenly I was on the back of a wagon with three other prisoners headed somewhere. I wondered absently if there was a prophesy that I should know about, another province in need of a hero "born on a certain day to uncertain parents". But no, apparently I was in Skyrim in a wagon full of criminal Nords on our way somewhere. The guys across from me were taking to the bound and gagged Nord beside me who was named Ulfric and he was apparently important. I didn't know anything of what went on since the third era, and Nords didn't live that long, so I didn't know any of these men. We ended up pulling up in a place called Helgen, and we were to be executed. That shocked me, that had never happened before. Apparently the empire was executing criminals. I was actually scared at that point. While I was a little sick of being in the world, I had no real wish to die. And so when they started calling names for people to come forward, I nearly panicked. One guy ran off and was killed by an imperial archer. I knew I could survive that attack, I was very strong, but if enough of them shot me I was dead for sure.

"you there, you are not on the list, who are you?" they had said. So they didn't even know who I was, and yet I was here? Understandably, there were probably very few people alive who knew my name. Most of those I had interacted with in my life were men, the few mer I had known were mostly old. I thought that maybe Divayath Fyr was alive, the old codger just never seemed to die, but we weren't exactly friends. I spared a thought to wonder how he was right now.

I told the imperials before me that my name was Androwen. They didn't know me. I thought that maybe they would let me go then, but they went on to say that I must have committed some crime and they were going to execute me anyway. That made me angry. While I no doubt deserved it for the things I had stolen and the people I had killed, they didn't have an actual reason, they just assumed I was a criminal. Never mind that I had saved Morrowind and Cyrodiil, and probably all of Tamriel, from destruction. I saw the head of one Nord roll, and then I was called up. I saw no way out of this. I thought that I would end up dead today. I thought of my parents, and of how kind they were. I thought of my kid brother, who was only 10 when I left him. He would be a grown man, a proud Altmer Mage by now, and I would never see him again. Then I heard it, the distant roaring of an airborne creature. Something in me called out to it, the same feeling I had around Uriel and Martin. The executioner was about to swing his axe when the dragon landed on a building. The world shook around me and I blacked out for a moment. When I came to, I followed an imperial out of Helgen and away from the dragon. I couldn't stop thinking about it. He told me he was headed for Riverwood and that he would meet me there. And that is where I am now.

"Shit, shit, shit!" I lived a comfortable time in Morrowind, I liked the heat. And while I did live in a cave north of Bruma for quite a while, I always had a big fire and warm clothes. Now I was walking around the northernmost province of Tamriel in nothing but ragged clothes. I was frozen. I wasn't a Nord who could just jump in the snow in my underwear; I was close to passing out. In my haste to leave Helgen, I didn't even grab armour. That at least would have been warmer. Before I got to Riverwood I spotted a structure in the mountains, not too far away. It was a Nordic ruin, and I went there. I used my great magicka skills to battle the strange draugr, and I geared up there. The ancient Nord armour was nothing like what I was used to, bit since I had no way to find my dark brotherhood armour or robes or umbra, this would have to do.

I finally round Riverwood. It was a short visit. I stayed long enough to get some food and talk to someone who told me to see the Jarl in Whiterun before I set out. It was night, and I had to travel by moonlight. It wasn't safe to cast any light spells, and I was pretty light on my feet so I didn't attract any attention. I glanced at the moon and suddenly wished I hadn't left Hircine's Ring back in Skingrad. I missed the freedom of being a wolf.

I arrived in Whiterun and there were some shenanigans there. I wasn't well accepted, I was an elf and apparently the war that took Cyrodiil was quite the big deal. I was briefed on that and I realized just the kind of power the Thalmor had. With so much magic, it wasn't surprising. I was sure I had as much magic as any of them, and being a tall Bosmer probably didn't play in my favour. I talked to Ysolda for a while, who was fairly friendly, and made friends with a Nord named Jon before leaving to the western watchtower. There was another dragon. It felt so wrong to kill it, but it was self-defence. And then it happened - I absorbed its soul. The ones around me claimed I was dragonborn, and I believed them. Martin and Uriel had been born with dragon blood, and it always felt right around them. It made sense because I also had dragon blood. Did that mean that I could have lit the Dragonfires when the Septim line ended? Could I have helped the empire? No, there was no way, for some reason the amulet had rejected me.

I gathered the bones from the dragon, or as much as I could carry anyway, and some scales and headed on my way.

The graybeards were odd old men. I connected with them a bit, but it was weird having one-sided conversations with most of them. I liked Borri most, but he hardly talked, so it was odd. What could have been an amazing story really wasn't for me. I was the dragonborn, apparently born to slay dragons. And I did. Alduin was dead at my hands. But it felt wrong. I knew his plans to destroy the world, and still it felt wrong. And then the blades wanted me to kill Paarthurnax, and I couldn't. The old dragon was my friend. He was probably my best friend. And despite being a blade for hundreds of years, I knew I had failed them and had no right to be one of them. So I didn't feel the need to answer to them.

I did not kill Paarthurnax, and he was proud of me. We became very close friends. There were so few who would talk to him. At first he said that it was a waste of my time to spend so much time talking to him, but then I confided in him that I was Nerevarine, and while he didn't understand what that meant, he did understand what it meant to live forever. I spent a lot of time talking to him. One of the many things he told me to do was to find a mate. He wanted me to marry and start a family. I didn't know if that was a good idea. I hadn't spent enough time around anyone to fall in love, and for good reason. I would live forever, and even a young Altmer would eventually die. There were many good prospects among the Thalmor, but I didn't want one of those.

At Paarthurnax's request, I spent a few years down in Skyrim away from him. There, I joined the companions. When I learned from Farkas that the circle were werewolves, I knew I had to become one. The werewolves here weren't governed by the moon, it was just like having the ring back, and I wanted it. Eventually, Aela shared her blood with me, and I joined their circle. It was amazing. I found myself rather enamoured with Farkas. But when I realized this, I left. He was a man, he would live so short a time, he deserved someone who would age with him, and I didn't want to be heartbroken when he died in thirty years. It was selfish, but I couldn't do it. I went back to Paarthurnax.

He disapproved of my choices, but he understood. He had been in love before. And she had died, killed by men. And she had been reborn with Alduin's help, and killed by giants, who I then killed. I felt bad, but there was nothing I could have done, I was too late. He didn't fault me.

Another few years later, Paarthurnax once again told me to venture down to Skyrim. This time I joined the college of Winterhold. There I met a rather cold Thalmor. He was charming though. We got on really well, and I almost considered letting him court me. But then he started doing something horrible with the eye of magnus. Regrettably, I had to kill him. I returned to Paarthurnax, this time for ten years. We were very close. At this point, I would have married him if he were man or mer. As it was, there was just no way a relationship could work between us (no amount of teasing, about which of my parents was the dragon, from the citizens of Skyrim could make this a workable relationship) so we remained best friends. He told me he had never had someone so close as me, never had he had a friend as devoted as me. Perhaps he mistook my love of solitude for devotion, but I didn't mind, I liked him too.

Again he told me to go to Skyrim. I had to admit, I almost missed it. This time, I rejoined the dark brotherhood, where I once again met up with Cicero, who didn't even recognize me. I was ok with that. The night mother gave me a good talking-to for neglecting my duties. I felt bad, but she felt sorry that I had to live forever, and told me that only one lifetime needed to be spent serving Sithis. And so I spent a few years with them. There was a werewolf there, and we got very close. He was already in love with Astrid, so we could never be together, but we were very close friends. When the sanctuary was destroyed and him along with it, I couldn't stay. The night mother understood and didn't make me stay.

Paarthurnax was pleased that I stayed down in Skyrim for as long as I did, but was happy when I returned. I stayed with him for only a few months. He then told me to seek a mate. I kept telling him that I didn't want to marry a man or mer. So he then told me to seek someone who was neither. I was confused at first, but then I remembered the oblivion crisis. The Dremora were a beautiful race of dark creatures. They resembled mer, and the majority spoke my language. So, I set out to find one. It wasn't easy, in the end I had to seek out Sanguine and do his task to gain his favour. He recognized me as both Nerevarine and the champion of Cyrodiil. He thanked me for putting Mehrunes Dagon is his place, and congratulated me for gaining immortality. The latter wasn't my fault, but I still felt cool about talking to a Daedra prince like almost an equal. He granted me the Sanguine Rose, but he altered it for me when I told him what it was I wanted. He tweaked the staff so I could use it to enter oblivion. And not just any part of oblivion, but the oblivion cities. It was nothing like the guarded wastelands I encountered at the end of the third era. This was a dark land that resembled civilization in Tamriel.

At first all the Daedra were shocked to see me, but they relaxed upon seeing me walk in side by side with Sanguine. It was nice, talking with Sanguine. He was dark like me, and was a good companion. I sparred with him once, and while he beat the scrib jelly out of me, he stopped before I died and healed me. He told me I was strong, and that he was glad to have me as a friend. He told me I was the first mer to be called as such, he said I was special, and not just because of my blood or my curse. For the first time in a long time (other than with Paarthurnax) I felt like I belonged.

It was in this odd city that I met a reclusive Dremora named Hadrik. He didn't like me at first, he was one of those people who hated people in general, but he was fascinated by my story and my curse. He asked permission to run tests on my blood, and I let him. While he found nothing that could pass on my curse to others, he was still fascinated. I spent a lot of time with him. I spent a good seven years with him. Then he told me he loved me. It was a shock, by that time I was so caught up in enjoying my time with him that I forgot why I was there. He asked to bond with me, which was different than marriage in Tamriel. Apparently the tests he had being doing for the last year or so had been to see if there would be any ill effects from combining our blood in a bonding ritual. He was confident that there wouldn't be. And so we bonded. We lived for three years as a bonded couple in the dark city, and by then I was completely accepted as one of them. I even had a few friends among the flame atronachs.

One day, Hadrik asked me if we could visit Tamriel. He wanted to see that world for himself, and he especially wanted to meet Paarthurnax. So, I took out the Sanguine Rose for the first time in ten years and cast it. We walked through the portal right back to Sanguine's shrine. We walked together to Ivarstead in the dead of night, attracting no attention, and walked up the 7000 steps, and then the path even beyond that to reach the top of the throat of the world. Just as he usually was, Paarthurnax was there, meditating. He greeted me as kin and I introduced him to my bonded, Hadrik. He approved. The two got on very well and I was happy. We spent many years on top of that mountain. Though my bonded was used to being alone, we all were, there was something in the three of us that kept us together. Perhaps it had something to do with being not human in a human world, it was hard to say. We all got along well though. And if nothing else, I was glad to have those around me I cared about. I could be a hero to all of Tamriel, but I didn't care. These two creatures were my life, and that was good enough for me. Perhaps on my next adventure as a hero, which seemed inevitable now, I wouldn't be alone. Hell, maybe this time I wouldn't get arrested first. Who knows


End file.
